“What—“
And then he was settled between her legs, his arms sliding beneath her thighs, lifting her arse off the mattress. She’d seen this before in The Harlot’s Guide, but which position—
When his mouth found her core, Wynda’s palms slammed against the mattress and she shot off the bed. But that didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue across her cleft once more, his wicked gaze never leaving her face.
Her arousal was on his lips when he smiled at her. “Lay back, lass. I promised ye this would be good, eh?”
And then he lowered his lips to her pearl of pleasure, hidden in her curls, and Wynda gave a little sigh of surrender and lowered herself to the mattress.
Her hands found his head, her fingers twining through the long locks of his hair. She wasn’t certain if ‘twas to hold him in place or to keep her grounded as she floated higher and higher, his devout ministrations causing the pressure to build with each heartbeat.
He slid a finger into her.
At the invasion, her thighs instinctively tightened, but he hummed against her core, his tongue still working minor miracles, and she relaxed in another heartbeat. It was really more of a melt, involuntary, unable to do aught else.
A second finger joined the first, and this at least, she was used to. She’d tried it herself often enough, but his fingers were longer, wider, and touched parts of her which had never—
Her orgasm completely surprised her.
She sucked in a gasp at its suddenness, felt her inner muscles tighten around him, felt him huff a breath of air against her slick folds.
“That’s it, love,” he crooned, his fingers moving within her. “That’s a good lass.”
His words of praise kept her higher than she ought to be, still gyrating under him, uncertain why this didn’t seem enough.
But he did.
With his fingers still inside her, he moved up her body, covering her with his warmth, his power. Her knees fell open, welcoming him, as he braced himself over her.
“Ye’re ready for me, lass,” he barked.
Then his fingers were gone, and he’d grasped his cock, and she felt him freeze, the hard tip poised at her entrance.
She swallowed, her arms reaching around him, nails digging into the skin of his back, trying to pull him closer. With her feet planted against the mattress, she could arch her back, thrust her pelvis upward, trying to urge him inside her again.
But still he held her gaze, his expression serious.
“Pherson!” she gasped in command.
“Ye’re mine, Wynda Oliphant.”
She froze, trying to make sense of this new, wondrous, incredible, confusing information.
When she didn’t answer, he growled.
“Do ye understand? Now and forever, love.”
She blinked, glad to understand, now. “Now and forever, Pherson.”
And then he pushed inside her.
St. Tiffani’s blessed clitoris!
Wynda’s eyes widened, still holding his gaze.
“Lass?”
“ ‘Tis…good,” she breathed.